


Fall

by MrProphet



Category: Alien Series, Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 14:49:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10699254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrProphet/pseuds/MrProphet





	Fall

T'ni did not like Hellan; that was clear from his body language. It was hardly a surprise and Hellan had grown accustomed to the instinctive distrust of dragonriders in the fifteen years since her bereavement, but flying with a man who hated her was a far more uncomfortable experience than merely treating them for broken bones and phosphor burns.

Joneth was quite a different matter and the bronze dragon's desire to show off was wearing on his rider yet further.

"What happened?" Hellan asked, somewhat reluctantly leaning into T'ni's back to ease the chill of  _between_  from her bones.

"We don't know," T'ni admitted, "and the dragons aren't saying." There was a long pause before he added: "That's why we need you. They like you."

Joneth swooped down towards a broad-backed mesa, where the rest of T'ni's wing were camped. That in itself was a rarity, for the ability to fly  _between_  usually obviated the need for dragonriders to sleep rough. Hellan took the time to scratch gently between Joneth's shoulders as she dismounted, despite T'ni's glower. The riders would never like her, so she might as well keep good relations with the dragons.

"Ten days ago, there was a Fall," T'ni explained.

Hellan was so surprised that she missed her footing and almost fell. "A Fall? But there aren't supposed to be any more Falls."

"And even if there were, the Red Star isn't in the sky," the rider agreed, "but nonetheless, Weyland Hold reported Threadfall to the southeast. We sent a wing to look and found no sign of Thread... and then Weyland Hold went quiet. Quessa and D'rak went to see what was happening and... Well, that's all we know. The dragons heard something from Nostreth and Sulacith, but whatever it was scared them so much that they won't tell us what it was. If we try to fly any closer than this, they refuse.

"Newth is one of our most sensitive dragons, and seems to have received the clearest message; we need you to talk to her."

Newth was a young green dragon. Her rider, D'las, glared daggers at Hellan as she approached. It was understandable; to be told that a 'proper' dragon-lady would be communicating with your dragon where you had failed was bad enough, let alone one who had failed to curl up and die when her own mount had been murdered by hide poachers. 

Ignoring D'las, Hellan approached and laid her hands on Newth's snout. The contact was not necessry, but she found that it helped to deepen the empathic connection and soothe a troubled dragon's spirit.

"Newth," she said softly. "Newth; what happened?"

Newth was silent for a long moment, before answering:  _They took them away._

"Nostreth and Sulacith?"

The long, green head shook slowly from side to side, her distress radiating from her and infecting the other dragons. Hellan stpped close and leaned her head against Newth's. "Be brave for me, Newth," she said. "Can you do that?"

_Yes._

"Tell me what happened."

Another long pause, and then:  _Quessa and D'rak went into the Hold. The people were gone, all gone. There were signs of a fight; blood and barricades; scorchmarks from agenothree, burns like Threadfall in the stonework and knives and spears blackened and pitted and rotted to the hilt.  
_

_Sulacith heard a mind in the cellars; a watch-wher in terrible pain. Quessa and D'rak went down into the cellars. It was dark, and dank, and too hot. That was where they found the watch-wher; and the people of the hold._

"They were dead?"

_Some. The lucky ones. Others were alive and things... growing in them.  
_

_And then something came out of the walls. D'rak struck it with his knife and its blood burned his arm to the bone. He died screaming and Nostreth went_ between _. Sulacith tried to reach Quessa, but something closed her mind._

Shaking, Hellan conveyed this last to the dragonriders, whose horror outsripped her own. For something to block the bond between dragon and rider - not sever in death, but somehow interfere with it - was a thing unthinkable.

"And Sulacith?" she whispered.

_She went to Quessa, and her mind closed as well._

Around the camp, the dragons set up a terrible keening.

"So we go to Weyland; find out what happened..." T'ni began, but was cut off by the keening of the dragons.

Hellan, more sensitive even than the riders to the dragons' fear, shook her head. "Take off, flame the hold from the wing," she said.

"But Quessa and Sulacith; we can't just abandon the Weyrlady and her queen."

"The dragons won't go in; they won't let  _you_  go in," Hellan pressed.

 _There is a story we dragons tell._  Joneth's speech was deeper and stronger than Newth's, but the fear in him was just as obvious.  _A memory of a terror that came out of space and tried to devour the world, long ago, but was killed by the Thread before it could take root. It is a memory of fire lizards, without words, but we remember the madness as their minds were closed to one another.  
_

 _We tell ourselves that there is no Devourer, not really, but there is. We felt it claim Sulacith. We can feel it already, even from here, like a shadow in_ between _._

For a long time, no-one spoke.

"Alright," T'ni agreed. "We go in at first light, flame the hold from the wing."

The dragons crooned in agreement. It was the only way to be sure.


End file.
